


Taken in the Night

by onesizefitzsimmons



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Greg Lestrade, Blood and Torture, Divorced Greg Lestrade, Dom Irene Adler, Dom/sub, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, F/F, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Masochism, Minor Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Protective Mycroft, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2020-05-18 20:05:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19341664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onesizefitzsimmons/pseuds/onesizefitzsimmons
Summary: Greg Lestrade suddenly hears the name "Irene Adler" non-stop. Sherlock is on Adler's case (events of ASiB) with the help of John and Mycroft.After a long day at the Yard trying to figure out "The Woman", Greg sees her across the street and decides to take matters into his own hands. Little does he know, however, Irene has plans of her own for the detective inspector.





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all like it, just let me know!

“Yeah, he’s doing fine…” John sighed. “He’s in bed. Still a bit off but alright.”

“Alright. Keep me updated. Thanks John.” Lestrade nodded once, content with Sherlock’s condition. He had been in quite the predicament a few hours prior, but was safe in the doctor’s arms now.

“Ta Greg.”

The detective inspector ended the call and placed the phone on his cluttered desk. He rubbed his heavy eyelids, wiped the corners of his eyes, and checked his watch. 

“Jesus…” 

The timepiece held its arms at 1:57 AM. Time had flown by that day, but the anxiety had taken a toll on Greg. John had called that afternoon, with worry clearly in his voice.

“Listen Greg, Sherlock’s been drugged with something and I-“

“By who?!” He had responded a little too loudly, heads turning over to see what was going on. Greg saw the curious looks around him and retreated into his office for some privacy.

He repeated the question.

“By a woman. Well, the woman Greg. I’m taking him back to Baker Street now… God a lot of shit’s happened today…” 

He could note the fatigue in John’s voice.

“This Irene Adler I’ve been hearing about? Why’d she drug him?”

“The CIA came bursting through demanding she give them her phone Greg. That’s what all this was about. Her handphone. The pictures are on there too, but they were after something else.”

“Well where’s the phone now?”

“With her.”

An exasperated sigh.

“I think Sherlock had it after-“ A pause. John started over. “I believe she drugged Sherlock because he had the phone somehow.”

Greg listened. Something had happened in between that John did not want to mention. He would ask later.  
Greg immediately heard a string of cussing from afar.

“John you alright?”

“He’s about to vomit. I’ll call you later once I handle this.”

“Take care of him.” Greg ended the call knowing Sherlock would be fine in John’s more than capable hands.

After thinking about the day one more time, Lestrade gathered his things to return to his flat.

His phone buzzed on the way out and he looked at the screen: Mycroft Holmes.

Greg silenced his phone and shook his head. “Not right now. I’ve had enough.”

He finally escaped into the cool night air and inhaled deeply. The roads and sidewalks were damp from the misty air and he could hear water sloshing in the drains below his feet.

The inspector considered a cigarette but started walking instead. His flat was close by and a cab would be unnecessary. He probably would’ve fallen asleep if he sat down in a car.

His feet moved under him at a casual pace, enjoying the brisk air and the lack of people around him. The city seemed so barren at night without the prolific number of cars or pedestrians. Greg frequently thought about the vulnerability of the city at night, feeling in place as an enforcer of the law.

He was a few blocks from his flat when he heard footsteps. Clicking. Heels clicking on the pavement. Greg turned his head to look. A silhouette of a woman walking from behind him across the street. Her dark hair was up in an elegant bun. It was all very strange. If she had been walking in the opposite direction, he would have noticed her earlier, especially with her heels clicking loudly. How did she suddenly appear behind him? He didn’t hear any car doors lock and no taxis were around at the time.

Lestrade turned around to follow her. He jogged across the street to the adjacent sidewalk until he was about twenty yards from the stranger.

“Hello ma’am, are you alright? Don’t be alarmed, I’m a detective inspector at Sc-“

She turned around to face Greg when he stopped speaking. He stared. Nothing seemed to be moving as the night became even quieter than before. 

The woman hummed and smiled defiantly. “Detective inspector Gregory Lestrade. Yes, I’ve heard of you.”

She stepped toward the frozen man. Fifteen yards.

“Well, I’ve heard a lot about you.” Her voice was low, almost a growl, but pleasing to the ear. Like silk.

She slowed her pace. Twelve yards.

“My client sees how close you are with the Holmes brothers. It’s quite endearing actually.”

Her confident strut slowed. One foot in front of the other. At this pace, the pounce seemed imminent and Greg was in place.

“While you and Sherlock work well together, your relationship with Mycroft seems more… special.” Her emphasis on the last word made Greg’s jaw clench. “I suppose the Iceman has a proclivity for men like you.”

His failing marriage was common knowledge amongst his peers. There was no point in hiding it anymore. While he had hope about giving it one more try, he wasn’t so sure. Greg had begun seeing the elder Holmes brother more often. Their discussions were always strictly professional, but lately it had evolved into something more. Sometimes Greg could see Mycroft watching his movements out of the corner of his eye. Whether he was talking to Sherlock or completing tasks in Mycroft’s office, he could feel the man’s eyes on him. But Greg wasn’t about to complain. He too had found himself reciprocating. Greg liked staring at Mycroft’s hands, his long fingers, and sharp features. The slender digits caressing a fancy umbrella or nursing a glass of late-night scotch. He wondered what Mycroft’s hands could do behind closed doors or under desks. 

“Miss Adler,” He spoke as calmly as he could, “where is the phone?”

The woman stopped directly in front of the inspector. Her gaze never broke from his.

“Your hair looks better in person,” a sly grin shaped her lips. She brought up a hand to the back of his neck, feeling the ends of his silver hair. “It suits you well.”

Greg carefully felt her jacket pockets to see if the phone was on her person. He thanked a certain consulting detective for inspiration in this moment of panic.

His hands felt the fabric discreetly when he touched something solid. A phone? Possibly, he thought. All of a sudden, Adler’s soft touch on the back of his neck went stiff.

“Like what you felt, detective inspector?” The smirk remained on the woman’s face, yet her look became devious.

Her nails dug into the back of his neck as her opposite hand jabbed at Greg’s midsection. She stepped back as Greg inhaled and blinked out of his concentration.

“What?-“ Greg stumbled back as well and looked at her. His stomach dropped at the sight of her hand. A syringe.

“The next time you want to touch someone, you should ask first. Maybe I’ll say yes.”

Greg blinked several times again. Irene had pierced his right side. He mentally kicked himself. She had drugged Sherlock the day prior – he should have known better and kept his distance. He was just beginning to recall her strategy. She closes in on unsuspecting men like himself quite easily.

“The hell have you done to me?” Greg’s words were beginning to slur. Uh oh.

“The hell have you done to me?!” He repeated, louder this time. The ground started to spin. He fell to one knee and braced himself. 

The woman walked over again and smirked. 

“This phone will be the least of your worries now inspector.”

Her words echoed in his head as he heard a car pull up next to them. He felt strong hands carry him into the car and saw the woman getting in after them. He saw her gaze on him, sprawled out on the floor of the vehicle, completely helpless. The predator was eyeing up her latest catch. Greg fell unconscious as the car began to move away.


	2. Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is informed of the inspector's abduction by the woman.
> 
> Gregory wakes up in the clutches of the woman and knows he will have to endure pain. How long can he last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just felt like updating because I want to write this story (meaning I thought of this a lot lol).
> 
> Let me know if you like it or if anything needs work.
> 
> Thanks!

“Sir.” Anthea announced her arrival in Mycroft’s office. Her voice dragged him out of his mind palace.

“Yes Anthea. What is it?” The elder Holmes checked his watch. It was almost 2:30 in the morning. Something had happened since she would usually leave him alone at this hour.

She walked over to his bureau and placed her tablet into view.

“It’s the inspector.” The time stamp atop the CCTV footage read just fifteen minutes ago.

“He was on his way back to his flat when he was intercepted by Adler.” 

Mycroft watched the woman approach the inspector slowly. Flee, Gregory. Please turn the other way, Mycroft thought. Before Greg could do anything however, she saw a hand jab at the man’s midsection. His jaw clenched as he watched the inspector stagger backward in shock. He watched helplessly as the silver-haired man fell to his knees and eventually to the ground. 

“Wait a second. Rewind the footage thirty seconds and zoom into the inspector’s hands please.”

Anthea slid her finger along the screen to the requested time. Mycroft squinted his eyes in concentration and noticed Gregory’s wandering hands. 

“He felt the smartphone in her pocket.” He felt a certain amount of respect for the inspector attempting to retrieve the phone, even under stress. 

“She still had it on her then. I need to make a few calls.” Anthea left the tablet on Mycroft’s desk and left, Blackberry in hand.

As soon as the door shut Mycroft let out a loud sigh. The inspector had been taken, presumably due to his connection with Mycroft.

The two men had known each other for a few years already, but lately their relationship had taken a noticeable shift. Mycroft caught himself staring at Gregory’s silver hair more often, wondering what it would feel like in his fingers, especially clenched in his fists during certain situations. The two men would occasionally share a drink in this very office and talk for hours on end. Gregory began opening up after a certain point in their friendship. It seemed that the inspector required a certain level of trust with another in order to reveal his inner workings. Frankly, achieving that status with the inspector excited him and made him wonder how much further they could go.

Mycroft shook his head to break out of his longing. He had work to do.

When Greg came back to his senses, he opened his eyes slowly and blinked. The room was dimly lit and he was strapped into a chair specifically made for this purpose. There were no handles on the chair. His arms were bound onto the side of the chair’s back and straight down his torso. This is nice, he thought. At least the straps weren’t a rough rope. His predicament called for as much positivity as he could muster.

Greg turned his head to observe his surroundings. The room was peculiarly clean and smelled sterile. He could smell the faint odor of a chlorine based cleaner. There were some metal cabinets embedded in the walls but nothing else beyond them.

Soon after the inspector noted how silent the room was, several locks turned and the door handle turned. A large man stood in the doorway. Greg stared straight ahead at him. The woman suddenly appeared in front of the brute, “Close the door.”

The guard nodded and closed it with a clang after she entered.

“How are you feeling inspector?”

“That was quite the sedative you used on me.”

“You vomited twice within the hour.” She said with yet another smirk. The woman eyed Greg up and down and admired the view. “You look rather appealing in this position inspector. Perhaps we should do this more often.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Well I am.”

They both stared for a few seconds with her eyes wandering on his body again.

“Your relationship with Holmes Sr. has intrigued me.”

“What relationship? We aren’t mates. D’you think we meet at the pub on the weekends?”

She reached into her trouser pocket with a knowing look. “Not the pub per se, but you have been frequenting his office lately.”

The woman showed him several photos of the two sitting across from each other sharing a drink in Mycroft’s office. The photos were from inside the room. How were they taken? She also showed a few shots of the two men speaking together at a cordoned crime scene and getting into a black car together.

“How did you?-“ Greg stuttered. “How did you get these?”

“The Iceman’s workforce isn’t as water-tight as he likes to believe.”

Greg shook his head in disbelief, “So you’re using me to get to him?”

“Partly. I never had the pleasure of meeting you – until now.” Her gaze on the bound man deepened. “You’re mine Inspector.” Her hand rose and an index finger brought Greg’s chin up to face her. “And I can do whatever my heart desires with you.”

The woman moved her hand to stroke the DI’s cheek gently.

She hummed, “So pretty…” Her hand abruptly moved back and slung forward to strike Greg across the cheek.

He remained unmoved by the sudden action against him. His years of training and experience were beyond useful in this situation.

The woman used the momentum to backhand the inspector on the opposite cheek, causing him to close his eyes and exhale slowly.

Greg opened his eyes as a mischievous smirk danced on his lips, “Maybe you should wear a ring. The pain could be better.”

Irene then walked over to one of the metal drawers at the side of the room. She pulled the metal handle out and examined the contents inside for several moments before finally deciding. Greg watched as she gripped a black riding crop in one hand while closing the drawer in the other. Shit. That’s what you get for being a smart arse. This was definitely going to hurt.

“I don’t find myself wearing rings often, Inspector. However, I frequently enjoy the company of a crop in certain settings. I do believe that I will enjoy using it on you today.” Irene walked over to the bound man at an agonizingly slow pace. Gregory was never fond of the crop. While he did enjoy some type of pain mixed with pleasure, this situation seemed too extreme to enjoy. He was beginning to feel the gravity of the situation. His bounds suddenly seemed tighter around the wrists and ankles. The sterile air made him want to vomit. He felt like he was suffocating.

Irene finally reached the inspector with a smirk still plastered on her red lips. She brought the end of the crop up to Greg’s face and began to stroke it softly. The leather tip bent as she dragged it down the contours of his face.

The DI closed his eyes and evened out his breathing. His heart was pounding but there were no visible indications of his panic. At least not yet. There was no use talking her out of using the whip. She seemed very intent on using it on his face.

“I enjoy inflicting pain on others inspector. It’s my job and I love it. But there’s a certain element of the crop I love that you must understand.” In one deft motion, the woman drew her dominant arm back and cracked the tip of the crop across Greg’s face.  
“It’s the fear of the crop that I can see in everyone who is beneath me.” 

Greg turned to show Irene a defiant look. The side of his face was already raw from her first strike. He said nothing, made no noises, and didn’t want to motivate her into hitting him harder.

“No matter how much effort one puts into hiding their fear, I can always see it. Everyone is different. I can see it in your eyes inspector.”

Not one strike this time. The crop went across the left side then his right. He puffed his chest and watched the woman. Her visage was hauntingly remorseless. He could see why she excelled as a dominatrix. Three strikes. A few moments passed and she watched his cut face as he tried looking away.

“Ah ah,” Irene forcefully used the tip of the crop on Greg’s jaw to make him face her again. “Let me see.”

Greg’s skin had already split as he glared at the woman.

“What a shame to see your pretty face like this.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“To watch you suffer.”

Greg was promptly hit four more times and let a grunt slip on the last blow. He was panting and the sting from crop was incredible. He faced the wall away from his aggressor and closed his eyes. Breathe. Everything is okay. Breathe Greg, breathe. You can get through this.

The dominatrix brought the crop up to stroke his face again and he inadvertently flinched from the motion. Shit.

She hummed and relished his reaction. Blood was beginning to drip from the cuts on his face.  
Irene placed the crop on Greg’s lap and bent down to eye level. She ran a hand through his soft locks before grabbing a fistful and tugging upwards. The woman tilted Greg’s head to observe her work. A few minor cuts and bleeding. Nothing major. She noted how brown his eyes were – like chocolate.


	3. Fuck Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is being tortured.  
> Mycroft is trying to find his inspector.  
> How much can Greg take before being a smart ass breaks him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year you guys.  
> Lov u

Greg gradually regained consciousness. He blinked quickly and looked around. No one was in the room, but he was in a new stress position. His arms were chained above his head, with them anchored on a pulley system above. He was on his knees.

“Fucking hell…” Greg mutters. His face began to sting again and this situation was becoming annoying. He knew the Woman wouldn’t kill him, but she would have her way for quite some time. Even if Mycroft unleashed every dispensable resource at hand, it would take days for him to locate such a remote location. Plus, the DI hazily recalled his abductors dumping and switching vans. A timely rescue seemed unlikely. 

Come on Mycroft… Greg thought, closing his eyes. I’m holding out for you now.

A few moments later, the metal door opened with a clang. It was Irene.

She sauntered in and took in the sight before her.

Irene smiled while looking at the Inspector and commanded, “Raise him up to his feet.”

Seconds later, the chains above him began to rattle as he was pulled up to his feet. Greg stood with his arms above his head, feet planted on the ground. He stood as an X in the center of the room.

The Woman spoke, “You see Inspector, there is something deliciously enticing about a pet who refuses to submit…” She strutted close, without breaking eye contact, and reached out to touch him. She placed a hand at the crook of his left elbow and traced inward toward his chest. When her right hand reached the base of his collarbone, the backs of her fingers rose to Greg’s neck. 

After his marriage failed, women seemed to leave a sour taste in Greg’s mouth. He always knew he wasn’t ramrod straight in terms of his sexual preferences. Greg was open to anything, with the exception of his ex-wife. While she seemed to be the bad apple plaguing the bunch, Irene was… Different. He knew she was gay, but what was she doing? She’d whipped his face mercilessly a few hours prior. And now she was touching him so tenderly? Greg always craved physical attention, but he didn’t know how to react right now. 

“Her actions are exploitative. Do not react,” Greg repeated in his mind.

With the lengths of her fingers placed on the side of Greg’s neck, she began to stroke his adam’s apple with the pad of her thumb. His breath hitched and the chains rattled slightly. 

Irene smirked as Greg cursed.

“Not as tough as you think, Inspector?”

Greg couldn’t help it. Her touch was intoxicating and nothing about this situation was practical. 

“I’ve seen it before… Men who must act tough under me are always the most submissive.”

While his pulse was racing, Greg’s mind began to ponder… Did he have a submissive side to him? The Woman had a particular interest in him, and in some twisted way, Greg was flattered by the fact. He was almost willing to look past his predicament and embrace submission for the feeling of being wanted. But as soon as the thought entered, he shook it out. There was no time for such nonsense.

“Well I’m not like most men, Irene.”

Her eyes narrowed and the hand left his neck to gesture at the camera. Two men entered the room as Irene stepped back.

“Inspector, I’m afraid it was my mistake of not telling you earlier.”

One man approached Greg from behind while the other stood to his side. Both were standing very close. Too close.

“When you are in my presence, you will never refer to me as Irene. Only Miss Adler. Understood?”

Greg did not answer.

The one behind Greg grabbed his hair and wrapped an arm around his neck. The inside of the man’s elbow began to squeeze, constricting Greg’s breath. 

“You will never call me by my first name.” Her tone was fiercely firm. ‘No’ wasn’t a wise answer.

“Do… You think… I give a… Single… Fuck?” Greg spat out through gritted teeth. The choke hold grew exponentially tighter.

Irene nodded at the other man. He delivered two hooks to Greg’s sides.

The wind was knocked from Greg’s lungs and everything began to burn. He already couldn’t breathe from the hold and the hooks made things worse. Greg wheezed as he tried to breathe any way he could.

Just as the corners of his vision began to blur, the man let go. Greg’s coughs whooped while his chest heaved. When his sight cleared, he saw the other man holding a small knife in his hand. Shit.

“Just say it,” Irene stated flatly. The everlasting smirk dissipated to an emotionless stare.

“Like I said…” Greg caught his breath, “I don’t fucking care.”

\---

“Sir,” Anthea rushed into Mycroft’s office with bustling speed. She held her tablet in one hand and a stack of papers in another.

“It’s Lestrade. The Woman sent a video file of his-“

Mycroft lifted his hand to receive the tablet.

“Please.” The look on Mycroft’s face was without emotional indication. 

The older Holmes inhaled sharply as he opened the video file. Greg arms were chained above him in the middle of a concrete room. His body formed a vulnerable ‘X’ and he was susceptible to every physical act of aggression by his captors.

The fucking video had sound. 

Mycroft watched as Irene touched Greg in a manner he only wished he could have done in recent times. Soon after, two men entered the scene because Greg didn't use the dominatrix's preferred title. One choked Greg while the other punched. It was an undeniable power play to make him submit.

Mycroft’s eye twitched when he heard Greg’s agonizing wheezes.

Both times, Greg was defiant in his refusal to comply with the Woman. While Mycroft’s respect for the inspector skyrocketed, the man was suffering due to his sharp tongue. The second time Greg refused to use the Woman’s preferred title, the puncher pulled a knife.

Mycroft’s heart dropped. “Oh goodness, Gregory,” he thought. “Why?”

The older Holmes could only watch while the Inspector was stabbed in the abdomen. His captors knew where to stab to avoid a fatal wound.

Chains rattled as Greg’s hands balled into fists. The inspector groaned through gritted teeth and tried to control his breathing.

“Would you like to try again?” Irene stood with her arms crossed, watching the scene.

Greg shook his head.

Mycroft exhaled aggressively.

He watched as the men returned into the same positions – choke and punch.

The puncher struck the front of the inspector’s abdomen this time, making Greg cry out. 

Mycroft felt fury seething from within.

Greg was put in a strong choke hold again and wheezed to no avail. His eyes began to flutter, mouth agape, when he was finally let go. The coughs were wet and even rattled Mycroft through the screen.

The inspector looked weak and blood stained the front of his shirt, from both the stab wound and open wounds on his face. The chains were lowered to position Greg on his knees.

“You will only speak to me in the correct manner. Is that understood?” It was no wonder Irene excelled at domineering. Her caustic tone made ‘no’ an unwise choice.

The older man’s head sagged forward – he was in pain and bleeding. If his response was smart again, he wouldn’t be able to take the next bout of blows. Greg calculated for a second and sighed softly.

“Yes, Miss Adler.” Greg’s arms hanged taut from the chains, while his knees rested on the floor weakly. Everything seemed hopeless. He began to drift away.

“There.” The Woman purred, taking pleasure in his pain. “Wasn’t that easy?”


End file.
